


The People You Think you Love Don't Exist

by Violette_Witch



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Location: Alice "Daisy" Tonner's Scottish Safehouse, argument, post lonely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29446314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violette_Witch/pseuds/Violette_Witch
Summary: A simple day preparing dinner in the safehouse turns in to an argument that brings up some of Jon and Martin's deepest insecurities.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38
Collections: TMA Valentine's Exchange 2021





	The People You Think you Love Don't Exist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tonyjasper99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonyjasper99/gifts).



> By some stroke of luck, this gift exchange gave me the opportunity to write for my real life partner!   
> I hope you like this tonyjasper99, even if it's a bit more fluffy than you expected. I love you so much!!! Thank you for introducing me to this wonderful podcast!

Jon was tired. And he was frustrated with himself for being tired. He and Martin had been in Daisy’s safehouse for a few days, and he had had plenty of time to rest and relax. It was the first time in a long time that he’d consistently gotten a good night’s sleep. Yet he was exhausted.

Martin poked his head out of the kitchen, a grin across his face. Jon wanted to be happy to see that grin. It really was a beautiful grin. But he knew it meant Martin was about to ask him something and he didn’t want to get up from his spot on the couch.

“Hey Jon?” Martin said, in an endearingly genuine voice, “Would you want to come help me finish dinner? I’m almost done, just a few extra steps.”

And, because Jonathan Sims was finally accepting how in love he was, he agreed to follow Martin into the kitchen, despite the protests from his mind and body as he left the comfortable sofa and made his way around the corner.

They worked in silence for a while. Martin kept glancing at Jon like he wanted to say something, but he wasn’t saying anything, and it was starting to grate on Jon’s already strained nerves. His good will was beginning to leave him and his legs hurt for no discernable reason and really his mind just kept telling him to get in bed.

But instead he was placing the tray of asparagus in the oven and trying to match Martin’s chipper attitude. Although that seemed to be wearing thin itself.

It was odd, the kinds of things you thought about when you were in the same room as someone but not talking to them. Unbidden, a memory made its way to the front of Jon’s mind, like an unwanted acquaintance approaching him on an unusually foggy day: how much did they really know each other, he and Martin? Peter Lukas had said that they didn’t, and as much as Jon had tried to forget that – had tried to forget most everything that had happened that day – it was a thought that demanded attention.

He glanced at Martin, as he was collecting a couple of plates from the cupboard, and wondered at how few conversations they had really had in all the time they had known each other. Did he even know Martin’s middle name? Not that that detail really mattered but … Martin had been known to lie. To be fair so had Jon himself.

Despite himself, Jon felt the memory of Peter Lukas’s voice push its way to the front of his mind. _The people you think you love don’t exist. Not really. And that’s a very lonely place to be._

“What is it?” Martin asked, and Jon shook his head a bit, reorienting himself.

“What?”

“Nothing you just – you looked like you had something to say,” Martin placed the plates and utensils on the small table as he spoke, his eyes on Jon. They were earnest eyes. Kind.

Worried.

“It's nothing,” Jon said, turning away as if to check on something and then realizing he had nothing to check. “No, my mind just went … somewhere else. Sorry.”

Martin nodded silently, like he understood something, “My mind goes there too, sometimes,” he said in a small voice.

“Where?” Jon asked, looking at Martin, and he was sorry that he sounded more annoyed than he’d meant to.

Martin smiled a sadly, “The Lonely.” He paused, then said softly, “I’m sorry,” looking at the ground, “It’s my fault we ended up there in the first place.”

Jon breathed. He knew what he was supposed to say in this situation. He was supposed to say it wasn’t a problem, that he’d have gone to the Lonely – or somewhere ten times worse – a thousand times over to save Martin because he loved him and that’s what love was, wasn’t it? But he was so tired. He dropped into one of the chairs with a small nod instead of responding. He tried to think of something he knew about Martin that didn’t have to do with being tormented by monsters. When was the last time they’d had a conversation about something normal?

No, that was unfair. They had had plenty of light conversations as they traveled here. Jon just really needed to get some sleep.

“I think I’m going to lie down,” he found himself saying aloud.

Martin looked a bit taken aback, “But dinner is almost –”

“I know.” Jon said, rather abruptly, standing and starting to make his way across the room. “I’m sorry I’m … not hungry.”

Martin took a deep breath, evidently upset, although he tried to hide it. “Right. Okay. I’ll just eat on my own.” He wasn’t trying to be passive-aggressive, but it still made Jon feel the need to apologize.

“Sorry,” he said again, “I’ve just been … I’ve been having a bit of a rough time.”

“What and you think I haven’t?”

“No, I never said that,” Jon responded quickly, turning back to face him “why are you –”

“Sorry,” Martin said, and Jon was acutely aware of how often that word had been used in the last few minutes, “I just – are you angry with me about something, Jon?”

…

Jon hadn’t thought he was angry – confused or doubtful, maybe – but a few moments later he’d dug into the hurt he’d been feeling since he’d woken up in the hospital, and it certainly looked a lot like anger. Months of worrying about Martin from a distance and watching him choose to drift further and further away – maybe it wasn’t rational, but emotions rarely are, and Jon had been hurting for a long time.

“That’s not fair,” Martin said indignantly in response to Jon’s latest assertion. They were both standing in the middle of the kitchen now, agitation keeping Jon on his feet despite the tiredness he’d been feeling all day.

“Well, I’m sorry” Jon said, this time using that word as more of a weapon than an apology, his voice louder than he meant it to be, “I just … I wish we could’ve faced these last few months _together_ , but instead you left me to deal with all of it _on my own_.”

Martin scoffed and Jon looked up, surprised at the derision on his face. “Oh, _you_ were alone?” Martin retorted.

“No, I – you know what I mean.”

“No Jon, tell me. What do you mean?”

Jon sighed, he knew that he shouldn’t say what was about to come out of his mouth, “I wasn’t completely alone, but that’s because for once _I_ wasn’t the one pushing everyone away.”

Martin made an indignant noise, “I was trying to keep you safe!” he said, “to keep you away from their plans for _once!_ ”

“But you didn’t have to do that!” Jon retorted, “I don’t _need_ you to protect me!”

Martin was silent for a moment, the hurt evident in his eyes. And Jon was suddenly acutely aware of the circular scars that peppered his skin, the perpetually wrinkled scarring on his burned hand, and the months that for him held no memory other than fearful dreams. Maybe he did need someone to protect him.

“Jon,” Martin said after a deep breath, “you were … gone. You were gone and Tim was dead, and I was alone.”

Jon opened his mouth as if to say something but stopped himself.

“The lonely, it’s not – I wasn’t just there for a small amount of time,” Martin said, “It’s not even just these past months. I have _always_ been … alone.”

And on that word the tears started running down his cheeks. Slowly at first but they picked up speed as he fought to keep his breathing under control. “Even … back when we first started working in the Archives, you all were such good friends and I just … I tried _so hard_. But I’ve never been the person people see. I’ve _always_ faded into the background. The lonely just … let me do it on command,” he said with a bitter laugh through his tears.

“Martin,” Jon said, guilt filling him as he reached a comforting hand out, but Martin waved it away.

“No, no, it’s fine I’m just …” he took a shuddering breath, “for once, I could _use_ that. For once I thought, ‘I can be alone, on purpose and I can help people that way. Maybe even save the world.’ But it doesn’t matter anymore. Turns out that was just another stupid idea.”

Jon took a few steps toward him, closing the distance but not reaching for him this time, “Martin, I’m so sorry,” he said, “I – I was hurt that you pushed me away but I shouldn’t have brought it up like this. I – “

“It’s alright Jon, don’t –” Martin took a deep breath, obviously trying to reorganize his thoughts, stop himself from saying something stupid. “I’m just … I think sometimes that maybe nobody actually _needs_ me, y’know? Like, all I do is make tea, write bad poetry, and fuck everything up.”

Jon looked at Martin, despite his large frame, in that moment he looked small. Jon thought back on everything that had happened to them, on all the times he’d thought he could do things alone, and all the times Martin had been there for him. “I’m sorry that you feel that way,” he said, and for some reason in this moment he felt the right thing to do was increase the distance between them, give Martin some space, “and yes, we’ve both made our share of bad decisions recently. But,” he sank into one of the kitchen chairs, keeping his eyes on Martin, “I need you to know that’s not true – I _do_ need you. I mean … that’s kind of what I’ve been trying to say, I think.”

Martin turned his eyes to meet Jon’s.

“I missed you,” Jon admitted, “and I kept my distance because I trusted you, but it still hurt, although I don’t blame you for any of the decisions you made,” and as he said it he realized it was true. “I guess I’m just … scared?”

“Scared of what?” Martin sat as well, his legs brushing against Jon’s. He was still wiping tears from his eyes, but he seemed to be regaining composure, his earnest face focused on Jon.

“I’ve changed.” Jon said matter-of-factly, looking forward at the lines in the wood of the table, “I’m not … _human_. What if … what if I’m not who you thought I was? You think you know me but – ”

“Oh Jon,” Martin said, reaching his arm around Jon’s shoulder. Jon initially stiffened at the unexpected touch, but then welcomed the opportunity to melt into Martin’s warmth, “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said first, and Jon nodded to show he accepted the apology, “and yeah, we are not the people we were when we first started working in the archives, anyone could tell you that,” Jon scoffed at the understatement, “maybe there is a lot we still don’t know about each other but … I mean we haven’t been boyfriends very long. We’ve got time to learn.”

_Boyfriends_. Jon smiled. He did like the sound of that every time he heard it.

“And I know enough now to say this,” Martin gently cupped Jon’s face in one of his hands, smiling slightly as their eyes met, “I love you Jonathan Sims, and no amount of spooky Avatar weirdness is going to change that.”

Jon smiled in response; much – though not all – of the tension he had been feeling drifted away as he leaned up to gently kiss Martin.

“I love you too, Martin,” he said quietly.

After a moment, Martin pulled back, sniffing the air. Jon smelled it too, something burning.

Simultaneously, they turned to look at the counters. The chicken was set on top of the stove and had long since grown cold. There was smoke rising from inside the oven and Jon realized with a start that he had never set a timer for the asparagus he’d placed inside.

Jon wasn’t entirely sure why, but he started to laugh as Martin rushed to open the oven; snatching a potholder and waving smoke away, he pulled out a tray of charred black sticks that were far beyond edible. Martin looked from Jon to the devastated tray and back, the dismay on his face transitioning into reluctant amusement before he was laughing alongside Jon, his face breaking into one of the most wonderful smiles Jon had ever seen.


End file.
